Today is the start of my family’s 7th annual family getaway weekend in Vermont. We spend 48 wonderful hours with my parents, sister, two sets of aunts and uncles, and four cousins (and now their spouses/significant others, too!) and three dogs. And of course, for the second year in a row, K.
This year, J and I each took a personal day from work so we could spend the morning packing and get on the road early. The drive up was lovely — 3 hours of passing through western Massachusetts and southern Vermont quaint towns, farm land, forests, the kind of landscape we both knew from our childhoods in rural New Hampshire. On the ride up, I read my book, we listened to the radio, K slept in the backseat, we spoke in low, happy tones. I enjoyed the temporary silence of the car.
Because my family is LOUD. There is no way around it. When J and I first started dating, he was simultaneously appalled and amazed by the volume of my voice (which he attributed to my high school training as an actress) but then when he met my extended family, he understood. I have to be loud or else I would never have been heard.
Currently, K is asleep in our guest room in the basement. Sixteen of us are upstairs, waiting for our (late) dinner to finish cooking. I’m PRAYING that he won’t wake up, but with my family’s extraordinary decibel levels, every time the baby monitor hiccups, my breath freezes.
Sitting up here, talking with my aunts and uncles and cousins, a glass of wine in one hand, munching on appetizers, I almost feel like I have time-traveled back to life BB (before baby). I know that at any moment I could hear him start to fuss and cry, and I (or J) will rush downstairs and attempt to soothe him back to sleep. But until that happens, I will savor this moment. Every moment of parenthood is glorious — including the ones when he’s sleeping.